


Black Knight

by i3ernadette



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, Gen, xander joins the military
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i3ernadette/pseuds/i3ernadette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and institutions are the property of whoever owns Stargate and BtVS. I just borrowed them, and make no profit from their use. Song lyrics are from Eliott Smith's Somebody That I Used to Know.
> 
> A/N1: All information about the USMA comes from the internet; if I screw up, let me know and I'll fix it.  
> A/N2: The Black Knights are the USArmy's competitive sports teams.

"Yo, Xan!" Mick Thompson bellowed down the hallway, turning heads.

 

 

"Yo, Dick!" Xander Harris sang back, smirking.

"Watch it, Cadet," a civilian consultant, working with his O-chem professor, admonished with a smile as she passed by.

"Absolutely, Dr. Gupta."

"You naughty, naughty boy, Harris," Thompson finally made his way through the crowd and leapt at Xander, grabbing him round the neck and spinning in a quick dance. "Ready to hit the road?"

"God, yeah," Xander almost purred. "Thirty-six hours of Big Apple Bliss, baby; wine, women and song."

"Then it's back to the grindstone for - how long's it, then?" Thompson grinned.

Xander pretended to check his watch. "Why, Thompson! It looks to be - goodness gracious - two long and lonely months."

"New York City, here we come! Clear out, you Cows! Firsties comin' through!"

_ I had tender feelings that you made hard _   
_But it's your heart, not mine, that's scarred._   
_So when I go home, I'll be happy to go -_   
_You're just somebody that I used to know._

The club was insane, crazy groove thang gettin' shook all over the place. Xander grinned. This had never been his scene, beautiful ladies in scanty clothing or no, but a weekend away from campus was pretty much a guarantee for bliss. Two months and some change 'til graduation, two weeks leave for some party-hearty madness with Thompson and the rest of his unit, then in and out of AIT short courses until he fell down the rabbit hole, sucked into some weird-ass Twilight Zone special training under Cheyenne Mountain.

But for now? Beer good, girls pretty.

Thompson was getting handsy with a feisty little brunette by the bar, all full breasts and smooth moves... then she turned.

Xander dropped his drink.

"Faith?"

The brunette spun to face him fully, eyes huge. Her hands flickered sharply and, dammit, there they were. She was flanked by Buffy and Willow like some kind of fucking comedy routine. Thompson blinked when he realized her attention was elsewhere and scowled when he saw she was watching Xander, but the look on his friend's face made it perfectly clear that this was not a case of the dreaded cock-block.

He shouldered abruptly past the girls, who barely swayed out of his way, and slipped into place beside Xander, who couldn't take his eyes off Ghost of Christmas Past.

"You okay, man? Yo, Harris! You okay?"

Xander shook himself and turned to Thompson. "Get me outta here. We can go somewhere else, just…"

"Yeah, man, I got you."

_You don't need my help anymore,_  
 _It's all now to you, there ain't no before,_  
 _Now that you're big enough to run your own show_  
 _You're just somebody that I used to know_.

"You can't just leave, BoyToy. We didn't even get to have any fun!" Faith's voice was as husky as he remembered, calling after him down the cold-as-fuck street. He shouldered closer to Thompson, who looked at him askance but didn't protest, and kept walking.

"What the hell is going on, Xander? Where have you been?" Buffy's tone was sharp, demanding. He rolled his eyes and pressed on.

"Xan?" Fuck. Willow was talking softly, wheedling, almost in tears. Dammit. "We looked everywhere for you."

And the sympathy was gone.

"Bullshit." He didn't raise his voice, just spun around and spoke. Thompson fell into place beside him, easy as you please. Owe that boy a drink.

"What?" Willow jerked back into Faith and Buffy, her weepy wide eyes offset by their full-on Slayer glares.

"Giles - remember him? - wrote me a letter of rec for the Academy. They wrote an article about it in the newspaper, all 'Local Boy Makes Good.' Cordelia - ring a bell? - bitched for a month and a half. And if that weren't enough, my name's printed nice and pretty on the enrollment lists, and you're a goddamned hacker, Wills. So buck up. You knew."

"You just left!" Buffy yelled accusingly. Natch; she didn't listen when she didn't want to hear.

"You wanted me gone!" He finally yelled back. "Fray-adjacent, remember? Normal boy? Can't do jack - oh, except rally the troops, acquire the armaments, plant the fucking explosives… Huh." He shrugged and laughed, so sharp that Thompson pressed a steadying hand to the middle of his back. He'd told Thompson about the night-time baddies back when they were yuks together, getting ready for their first furlough. Provided back-story, too, and Thompson was smart enough to figure out just who the three hotties - or at least Buffy and Willow - had to be.

_ I watched you deal in a dying day, _   
_And throw a living past away,_   
_So you can be sure that you're in control_   
_You're just somebody that I used to know._

"Seems to me like you ran the boy off, kicked him out of your little girls club. Started as a Junior, yeah?" Thompson smirked, and Xander was ready to promise him his firstborn child. "So Harris here worked his ass off to help you lot out, save your ungrateful asses, and then went off to train up - be fucking worthy, right." He shook his head. "I'm glad as hell he did but you know what? You're too fucking late. Boy's gone, now."

"What, exactly, does that mean?" Faith asked, cold and cutting, hand drifting to her waistband.

"Don't be an idiot, Faith." Xander rolled his eyes. "Couldn't kill me the last time, and you won't go after my friend now."

"Xander!" Willow protested.

"What the fuck, Wills? Last time I saw her she was rockin' the coma roll - compliments of her new bestest-ever, over there, by the way. Before that she was, lemme think, working for the bad guys, and before that? She tried to choke me to death and I had to suffer the absolute indignity of getting my ass saved by _your_ ," and he scowled at Buffy, "hunka undead lover. So pardon me if I've not got the memo and welcomed her back into the fold - I left the fold almost four years ago."

"To do what?" Buffy demanded, stepping forward. There was twenty feet between them, and backing away wouldn't help if, for some unknown reason, she started to come after him. So he held his ground; it broke his heart a little more to do it, to realize that he automatically classed her as an unknown, possible threat, now.

"Give me a couple of months, Buff, and I'll be Second Lieutenant Alexander Harris, United States Army."

_ I know you don't think you did me wrong,  _   
_And I can't stay this mad for long,_   
_Keeping a hold of what you just let go -_   
_You're just somebody that I used to know._

"So what, you just walk away from the fight?" Faith frowned at him; he was impressed she was still coming after him, really. He'd made his feelings on allegedly-redeemed psycho bitches stalking him down with his former best friends pretty damned clear.

"So what, you just forget about the people you killed?" The weirdest fucking olive branch he'd ever extended, but hopefully she'd figure it out.

She blinked. "No."

"The fight just moves on. You guys said you didn't need me, and I took you at your word." He shrugged. "Nice to see you, ladies. We've got things to do."

He turned sharply, Thompson shadowing him protectively, and they slipped away, leaving three very unhappy superpowered women in their wake.

"What was that?" Buffy demanded, finally shaking herself out of her shock.

"He just left!" Willow almost shrieked.

Faith looked them over, then glanced at where Xander had been standing. "Nah. Boy just grew a pair. Got a life." She grinned a little. "Good for him."

 


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.

"At ease, Lieutenant Harris. Please, take a seat."  
  
Xander, recent - as in, two hours - graduate of West Point and newly raised 2nd Lieutenant, let his salute drop and sat in front of the heavy desk in the borrowed office, high with paper, that stood between him and Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF.  
  
"First off, congratulations!"  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
"Now, Harris, twenty-seventh in your class. Not bad at all, especially considering your High School transcripts," he held up the page from Xander's file. "Care to explain that?"  
  
"Explain what, exactly, Sir?" He leaned forward to take the proffered paper, scanning it rapidly.  
  
"Oh, I understand the bit about the undiagnosed dyslexia, and I certainly understand finding yourself in a whole new environment and realizing you truly want to succeed. What I don't understand is, well," he paused, flipped a few pages in the - Xander only now noticed - ridiculously thick file. "Why did the Mayor, who was so - and I use the word advisedly - evil that you had to kill him at your graduation… why did he pull strings to get you your required congressman's nomination?"  
  
He watched carefully as Xander blinked, processed, and moved on as if being accused of killing your wanna-be-a-demon Mayor was a crime on the scale of a short exchange of sharp words in the vegetable aisle of the local grocers'. Interesting.  
  
"Well, Sir, there were two reasons, from what I understand."  
  
"And they are?"Jack waved a hand invitingly.  
  
"First, of course, was selfish. Distraction. Get the people I was working with mad at me for leaving, get me thinking about the future rather than the immediate threat. Second - "  
  
"Did it work?" Jack interrupted.  
  
Xander cocked his head. "Not really, Sir."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Xander grinned, then deliberately smoothed his expression. "He didn't take into account how self-absorbed some of the people I worked with were. They thought it was a joke, I believe."  
  
"And you?"  
  
"Wouldn't have a future if I didn’t deal with the here-and-now." He caught himself. "Sorry, Sir."  
  
Jack shrugged it off. "You said there was a second reason?"  
  
"Yes, Sir." Xander smiled again. "Having seen my actions in the service of my town he felt that, properly trained, I would be a credit to my country."  
  
The file flopped onto the desk. "He was going to eat you."  
  
Again Xander shrugged. "Contingency planning, Sir. Ascensions, human sacrifices, and the other trappings of demonic sorcery aside, Mayor Wilkins was a very public-service oriented man."  
  
Jack couldn't hold in a snort, and Xander grinned.  
  
"Right, well," Jack said, controlling his incredulity. "Your academics - fifty-ninth in class, not bad - can be explained by accommodating your reading disorder and proper application of energy to your studies - and your focus on Mechanical Engineering, with a particular interest in those areas which, to the observant, would lend themselves readily to a mastery of demolitions are personally pleasing…"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I, too, know the pleasure of blowing things up," he grinned. "Anyway. To those in the know, your solid performance in your military courses was something of a surprise; few vigilantes accommodate the necessary discipline so readily. Explanation?"  
  
"Pardon me, Sir," Xander offered, somewhat hesitantly. "But where exactly are you getting your information? About me pre-Academy, I mean."  
  
Jack blinked, then scowled. "How familiar are you with the events surrounding the Initiative's presence in Sunnydale?"  
  
"I've kept in contact with a few people, Sir."  
  
Jack nodded. "A Dr. Rupert Giles, yes?"  
  
"Yes, Sir - wait, Doctor?"  
  
Jack smiled. "He left that out of his resume, so as to avoid unreasonable interest when moving to Sunnydale."  
  
"Ah." Xander sat back.  
  
"Anyhoo." Jack picked up a pen and began twirling it between his fingers. "Your name came up a few times when dealing with the local hunters, and was eventually linked to a plebe at USMA. We - or rather, the people who knew about all of this; I was brought in fairly recently - did some digging and found a file from the late, much-missed Mayor Wilkins. Essentially, we know what he knew, plus anything we could weasel out of Dr. Giles and that group."  
  
Xander blinked, then snarled. "If you're attempting to recruit me for another gods-be-damned demon hunting team after the absolute travesty that was the last one -"  
  
"Whoa!" Jack jumped to his feet, palms placatingly forward, and only then did Xander realize he was looming over the desk. He considered being embarrassed, but brushed that aside as not being easily reconcilable with his current rage.  
  
"Well?" He demanded.  
  
"Down, boy." Jack glared back. "I understand where you're coming from, which is why this particular outburst will never be mentioned. But don't do it again."  
  
Xander's jaw muscles rippled and clenched with restraint as he slowly lowered himself to his chair, demanding eyes never leaving Jack's.  
  
"The Initiative was a cock-up. Its primary focus - demon hunting, with the intent of lowering the staggering mortality rates in Sunnydale - was Army-run, true, but the research side of things was the purview of a group known as the NID, as unscrupulous a bunch of bastards as you've ever feared to meet - and remember, I know what you hunt on your down-time."  
  
Xander nodded, relaxing slightly.  
  
"I won't lie to you; there is a demon-hunting unit - some Initiative survivors, a few ex-Sunnydale folks pulled from the general rank-and-file, and a few Council loans, demonologists and such. They do what, I'm informed, the Council wetworks teams were initially designed to do - they travel to demon hotspots and… alleviate the problem while the Slayer is occupied on the Hellmouth." He shook his head. "I'm not part of that group and, honestly, while you were considered for that assignment it was decided that it would be a waste of your talents."  
  
Xander raised an inquiring eyebrow.  
  
"Demon hunting requires balls and fighting skills. You've got both, nobody's arguing, but your background and academic training has rendered you uncommonly well-suited for my particular project."  
  
"Deep-Space Telemetry, Sir?" Xander asked, almost mocking.  
  
"Watch it, Lieutenant, that's my extremely well-thought-out cover story you're calling into question."  
  
"Terribly sorry, Sir," and the two exchanged smirks.   
  
Jack shuffled his notes for a minute. "Oh, right! We were talking about your easy acceptance of military protocol in spite of your history."  
  
Xander nodded. "I take it that you're aware of the existence of magic, as well as of demons?"  
  
Jack signaled for Xander to continue.  
  
"I went as a soldier one Halloween. The costumes were spelled by a local bad-guy, and I became Private Harris. Giles broke the spell, he went away, but most of the memories are still there." He shrugged. "Even before that, I understood hierarchy in a way that the rest of my group never did. Even before the hyena, well… High School's all about rank, isn't it?"  
  
Jack blinked. "Hyena?"  
  
"Sophomore year. Group of us, unscrupulous zoo-keeper, interrupted power-transfer; my pack ate the Principal, so there should be records. I was locked up in the library at the time. Giles took care of it, as per." He shook his head, continuing in the face of Jack's blank stare. "Anyway, pack structure, Scooby - um, my group of friends - structure, the military… Not that hard to deal with."  
  
Jack shook his head hard, then smiled ruefully. "Right. Not the answer I was expecting, but I can deal."  
  
"What were you expecting, Sir?" Xander cocked his head.  
  
He shrugged. "Something vague about being an underling, craving structure after the chaos of your home-life, something like that."  
  
Xander nodded. "Sorry to disappoint, Sir."  
  
"Eh, I'll deal. Right, so, last thing before we talk about assignments. Physical performance."  
  
"Yes, sir?" Xander was honestly confused.  
  
"Look, Lieutenant. You're in good shape, you're tall enough, and you were subjected to a fairly severe physical training regimen before you came here - " He broke off when he saw Xander shaking his head. "No?"  
  
Xander shrugged. "Sorry, Sir, but aside from a short stint as an introductory Karate student and holding the pads for Buffy when she trained, I've never done anything outside of the actual fight. Well, I took up running after the soldier bit, I guess. So I'd be ready for the physicals if I made it to the Academy."  
  
Jack blinked. "You were fighting vampires without training?"  
  
"We all were, except Buffy. And training was pretty ineffective where she was concerned. She's stronger, faster, and has incredible instincts; putting a human against the Slayer just doesn't do much for either one."  
  
"Huh." Jack shook his head. "That makes your physical performance even more impressive, then. First, as you know. You look like a pretty average guy, a bit fitter than most, but not extraordinarily so. And you swept the athletic requirements. Can you shed any light on that?"  
  
Xander nodded slowly. "I hadn't really noticed, Sir, but I can make some guesses. When I came in, I was used to fighting opponents significantly stronger than myself. I've been genetically enhanced, of course; there was a swim team incident in High School - "  
  
"Yes, that's in your records. No note of lasting effects, though?"  
  
"They flushed the toxins from my blood-stream, but it was a fast-acting mutagen. According to what we could figure out, I underwent some basic changes - enhanced strength, lung capacity, and flexibility - before the process was stopped."  
  
"So that's it?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "Situational awareness from hunting in the graveyard at night and slightly enhanced senses from the hyena possession - I don't think anything actually changed, just that I learned to process the information better. That's it, Sir."  
  
Jack sat back and started fiddling with the pen again. "Huh."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I was expecting something more extreme, that your witchy friend gave you a boost or something."  
  
Xander shook his head. "She didn't want me in the fight, Sir."  
  
Jack blinked at him. "Say what?"  
  
"It's why I left. Better training, a chance to help, to get out from under Willow and Buffy's skirts." He paused. "Sir."  
  
Jack blinked some more. "Right." He cocked his head and stared at Xander for a long moment. "Moving on. Deep-Space Telemetry."  
  
It was Xander's turn for rapid blinking. "Yes, Sir?"  
  
"The project is USAF, though we pull the best and brightest from anywhere we can get them. Usually we get them once they're well-trained, but Danny - a civilian consultant on my team - has been asking for a pet." He leaned forward. "This is not what you're used to, not even back in Sunnydale. Things are just as strange, sometimes, but demon free. You're a pilot case, pulled in because of your background and your performance. Honestly, there are a thousand things the Army wants to do with you, but General Hammond has been throwing his weight around - as you've been told - to drag you under the mountain with the rest of us."  
  
"Yes, Sir. I was approached several months ago about cross-training at Cheyenne Mountain."  
  
Jack grinned. "And you accepted, sight-unseen?"  
  
"I wasn't aware that the Army knew of my night-time activities, but any project that I can't be told about ahead of time is bound to be interesting."  
  
Jack cocked his head. "How do you feel about aliens?"


	3. Aliens and Ghouls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.

 

The alien bit had been a surprise.

He supposed it shouldn't have been. More than one sentient species (he assumed they were sentient, anyway. Most demons he had conversations with were more along the lines of demonically animated corpses or demon-human hybrids, but Giles had been firm that the original dominant species of Earth - and Xander was never clear about where the dinosaurs fit into Giles' planetary history - had been 'true' demons, and those true demons had gone to war with humans. War, in Xander's world-view, was a decidedly civilized pastime, and civilization a hallmark of sentience) had evolved on Earth itself. According to Jack O'Neill and his personal version of the ol' "The Earth Is Older Than You Know" spiel, a humanoid race had arisen prior to the development of humanity, a kind of big brother race until they all got themselves killed off or ascended. Ascension was a sticky point, but Xander was pretty sure they did it the Cordelia Chase way - as per updates from Wesley, appointed by Giles to keep Xander in the loop just in case everything went completely bumfuck and a third line of defense was called for - and not the recently-mentioned-everywhere Richard B. Wilkins way.

Xander's attempts at reconciling the two histories led him to believe that it might have been the Ancients, and not simply the ancient humans, who gave the 'true' demons the old heave-ho. But nobody was asking him.

Anyway.

So multiple sentient races had evolved on a single chunk of rock, and when dimensional portals were opened - the sentience of the native inhabitants was a topic about which Xander was choosing not to speculate - and the true demons shoved through, they survived. Even Buffy survived in a demon dimension - which seemed kind of redundant; Xander's comic book-derived pre-Giles understanding of demons had led him to believe that the term sprang from 'dimensional monsters,' which would make the appellation of 'true demon' a bit of a misnomer, as those particular demons came from this dimension - after her little run-and-hide bit in LA. So habitable planets in their own dimension didn't seem particularly unlikely.

Which was good, since apparently there were thousands in just a few known galaxies. And a handful of alien races which had sprung up on some of them.

He thought the Norse God/Roswell Grey conflation was particularly headache-inducing.

So Jack - note to self: do not refer to him as such out loud - had given him a brief rundown of his program: flit about the galaxy, chit-chat with the locals - who were usually of Earth descent due to some alien-run dissemination program - save any princesses in need, make nice with the good aliens, and kick the collective asses of the bad. Of course, Jack had glossed over three important points. One: what ooh-so-nifty powers have the bad aliens got? Two: how the hell is this kind of program being run out of a mountain in Colorado? And three: how often do the princesses choose to bestow favors - sexual, monetary, or otherwise - on their saviors?

He was - he hoped, at any rate - about to find out.

He'd taken his leave with Thompson and the rest of their squad, celebrating in New York City for a weekend before those with families trotted along home. Giles had come to graduation, the entire LA contingent trooping along behind, with Faith pulling up the rear.

He'd been shocked at the turn-out, especially when the skinny motor-mouth with the big eyes had squeezed him so hard he thought he'd pop before introducing herself as Fred. The big black guy, as far as Xander had been able to determine, mostly was there to serve as an attractive crutch for Cordy, who'd just come out of a coma - some idjit lawyers had been trying to sucker Angel into a wicked bad deal, but he'd saved the girl, laughed in their faces, and got his kid (kid?!) some serious psychiatric help. The kid was back home, apparently slightly less homicidal but still not up for public appearances. What the fuck had been going on in California?

Wes and Angel were less of a shock, if not exactly expected. While he and Angel had rarely spoken, generally only to ask that the phone be handed off to the Watcher, he'd sent well-wishes every time Xander had passed a major milestone in his advancing career. And Wes had spoken to Xander almost as frequently as Giles had, not only keeping him up-to-date but helping with any demon-based inquiries Xander had and occasionally fielding a rant about how the work-load was going to kill him deader than dead.

Faith was…. Well. Apparently she'd reported back to Giles - who'd sent the two Slayers and the witch off to New York as a spring break dealy; Faith had turned herself into the cops ages ago and been serving her time when Wesley broke her out so she could help Angel. Really. California was fucking nuts - about the incident at the club. He'd filled her in on the life and times of one Xander Harris, and she'd followed his example and gotten the fuck out of dodge. Apparently there was a Hellmouth - a wee little baby one - in Cleveland, and Kendra's old Watcher and some guy named Lorne, another of Angel's entourage, had gone out with her to set up shop. She didn't know if amends could be made, didn't really hold out much hope for it, but gave every appearance of being remorseful as hell while still trying to move on with her life. It was the getting on with things that led Xander to bury the hatchet.

Anyway, his leave had been pretty uneventful, after the various Slaying crews went home and he and Thompson headed south for some quality beach time. Thompson was, ironically enough, headed for a demon-hunting squad. He'd been felt out carefully until he finally just asked one of his review panel if the questions they were trying so hard _not_ to ask involved things that go bump in the night and, if so, yeah, he was up to speed. So two weeks of fun and sun - and mojitos and string bikinis - had left them tanned, content, and ready for AIT.

Training had been a different kind of fun. Thompson was off doing weird demonology things, supposedly, but Xander got a few weeks of full-scale demolition training and an urban assault course, and one of Jack's alien-hunting buddies - the one that wanted a puppy - sent Xander a reading list.

It was ridiculously long.

Luckily, about a third of the books were ones he'd already forced his slow way through.

He'd shot back an e-mail asking about some translation issues and happened to mention that he'd seen an alternate version of one of the histories in his mentor's library - after checking with Giles that the book wasn't particularly demon-specific - and could nearly hear the geekgasm from across the country.

And now he was reporting for duty at the front door of the mountain, and how incredibly odd of a sentence was that? Couldn't Jack have met him somewhere else and shuttled him kindly in? Or even at the door? Instead he was freezing his ass off on the doorstep - okay, so it was only September and he was used to New York weather, shut up - waiting for some poor little doorman to call the bigjobs inside and tell them that their puppy delivered itself. Joy.

And there he was, the man of the hour!

"Lieutenant Harris, Colonel." Said the poor little doorman, sneering at Xander's sparkling new insignia.

"Colonel O'Neill." Xander waited for the return acknowledgement, and dropped back into ease.

"Well, Harris, let's get crackin'. Things to see, people to meet, Daniels to corral…"

"I thought I was to be the domestic animal in this scenario, Sir?" Xander asked out the corner of his mouth.

"So did I, but then I thought about it some more and realized that, rather than a puppy, what Danny really needs is a keeper. Don't get me wrong, you've still got gofer written all over you. But you _will_ eventually be put in charge of his care and feeding."

"Jack!" An aggrieved voice squawked at him, and Jack and Xander looked up to see the academic in question loitering by the elevator.

"What do you think, Harris? Danny, could you give us a little spin?" Jack looked on in glee as the two men sized each other up.

"Looks significantly less hopelessly geeky than I'd feared, Sir."

"Hey!"

"Relax, Daniel, it was a compliment." Jack paused. "I think."

"Of course, Sir."

"See! No problem at all. Now, Danny, this is Lieutenant Harris. I know you were hoping for some language nerd of something approaching your caliber, but I make a crappy Santa Claus. Instead you get a SoCal boy with an understanding of the weird that surpasses anything your rocks can dish out and a chit-chat proficiency in at least seven of the languages on your must-have list."

Daniel turned to Xander and blinked what Xander had to admit were some serious puppy-dog eyes. "Only seven?"

"Depends on the list, Sir."

"Don't 'Sir' him, he'll get all flustered and forget where he left his notes. It's very disturbing." Jack interjected, but was largely ignored.

"You speak more than seven?"

"Well, I only speak a few, really. The languages I've studied tend to be either dead or formulated for a different anatomical configuration."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Fine. With how many languages do you have a more than passing familiarity?"

Xander blinked, tilted his head, and started counting on his fingers. Daniel's expression got brighter with every finger-tick.

"Seventeen, I think. Some of those are derivative of others, obviously. And a few aren't, no matter what Colonel O'Neill has heard, on any list you might have made. There are probably some that are related, though."

"Hey! I got my information straight from your Dr. Giles!"

"And Dr. Giles tailors his reports on my prowess to the recipient. I can read and write three dialects of Ghoulish -any of which is closely related to Coptic - but can't read Coptic itself. Admittedly it's a difference of intent rather than of symbol, but - "

"There's a language called Ghoulish?" Jack asked, and Xander answered in the affirmative even as Daniel was shaking his head.

"It was big in Egypt, Sir. Different dialects at different time periods, of course, and there's some geographic dispersal."

Daniel's lips started shaping all the relevant syllables even as Jack started making a worrisome connection. The elevator stopped and, rather than escorting the new pet along to Carter's office, he headed towards the Gate Room and directed his attention through the open doors.

"Colonel? Why do you have a Ghoul trans-dimensional portal in your mountain?"

 


	4. A Broken Linguist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.

 

"Ghoul…" Daniel mumbled to himself, the end of long moments of stunned silence. "Not on the list. Of course. Jack brings me a boy who speaks Goa'uld." He went on for a bit, Xander watching him worriedly, Jack in bemusement.

"Colonel O'Neill, Sir? I think I broke your linguist."

Jack shrugged it off. "He'll get better. Always does. So. Ghouls?"

It took a minute for Xander to tear his eyes from the muttering Daneil, who was starting to look a little flushed.

"Sorry, Sir?"

"What, exactly, is a Ghoul, Lieutenant?" Jack squeezed down on Daniel's shoulder, only barely halting the anthropologist's impending interruption.

"Creepy symbiotic snake-thing with delusions of grandeur, Sir."

"Symbiote?" Daniel demanded. "Parasite, surely."

"Possibly," Xander offered. "The references I've seen suggested that the Ghouls gave their hosts long life and were, in fact, capable of sharing control of the host's functions. Both of which imply a symbiotic relationship. But that information is several millennia out of date; they were exterminated approximately five thousand years ago and - . Sir?" He cut himself off. Jack was staring at him and even Daniel had rallied a little.

"How do you know that?" The anthropologist demanded.

Xander looked around. There were a few guards and underlings standing around, looking serious, and people periodically tripped their merry way past. "Here, Sir?"

Jack nodded. "Right, then. C'mon, Danny," he coaxed, and led there way back in the direction they had come.

Jack opened the door to an office and Xander barely caught a glimpse of a lanky blonde woman hunched over a slab of bumpy metal. "Carter, my office!"

There was a squeaked "Sir" that Jack ignored as he collared a passing Lieutenant.

"Fetch me Teal'c from the gym, would you?"

The Lieutenant rabbited, and Xander grew ever-more confused.

Finally he was shown into an office - the gameboy tucked under the tottering stack of uncompleted forms was a nice touch, he thought - and pretty much forced to take a seat. The blonde followed soon after, shooting him a confused look before turning to Jack.

"What's going on, Sir?" She asked. "And what's wrong with Daniel?"

Daniel looked away from Xander, at whom he had been staring, and scowled. "Just wait, Sam."

Sam cocked an eyebrow at his ferocity and shrugged before ducking back out to grab another chair.

Jack slumped into the seat behind his desk, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Are you okay, Sir?" Xander asked, for the first time wondering if he had said something wrong, instead of just surprising.

Jack shook his head and Daniel laughed sharply.

"Just sit tight, Harris."

Xander shifted uncomfortably; he had a double-dozen things he wanted to say, to ask, to break the tension or to get answers, and sometimes maintaining the necessary restrained chafed.

Sam returned rolling a chair and pulled it up next to Daniel, the two of them arrayed at one corner of the desk, Xander at the other, with Jack behind. Still, though, they sat in silence until an absolute beast of a man walked in. Or… not-man.

Xander didn't have much in the way of a baddy-sensor, nothing like a Slayer's, but he had been super-saturated by evil vibes throughout his entire childhood and had a sort of gut feeling for who was and wasn't human. Sometimes it was a little difficult to figure out what it was saying, like the second-cadet when he was a third who turned out to be about a tenth Ifaryan; that had been an extremely awkward late-night encounter. This guy, though, was _almost_ human, but whatever was in his belly wasn't.

Belly.

Ghouls.

Holy fuck-a-duck!

And he'd said that bit out loud.

Oops.

"Sorry, Sir." He blushed slightly under the intense scrutiny of the four in the room with him. The giant had sidled around to lean against the wall behind his team-mates, who were gawping unattractively.

Jack shook his head, again. Xander thought he might have cause to worry; the consistency of brain-shaking that he was apparently causing in his superior officers could be problematic in future.

"Fuck-a-duck, Lieutenant?" Jack's eyebrow, previously well-trained in forehead ascension, was making a stoic bid for freedom.

Xander winced. "Sorry again, Sir. The peanut-butter man just caught me by surprise."

There was a definite choking sound from the onlookers.

Jack's lips twitched. "Peanut-butter man?"

Xander blinked and he swore to himself. He was not Buffy, and freaky cognitive leaps were supposed to stay inside his skull. "Um. Yes, Sir. Ghoulish isn't big on defining vowels, and all the translations I read played kind of fast and loose with spellings. So I started calling the Ghoul incubators Jiffies, which, well…" He shrugged helplessly. "Peanut butter, Sir."

Jack sighed, almost happily, Xander thought. "They're called Jaffa, Harris."

There was some definite startling amongst the assembled team.

"Sir?" The woman asked.

"Oh, right. Major Samantha Carter, Ph.D., this is Lieutenant Alexander Harris, fresh out of West Point, and Daniel's new pet."

"Jack," Daniel grated out.

"Sorry. What I meant to say was, he's Daniel's new wrangler."

"Jack!" Daniel's voice got higher, but Sam cut him off before he could really protest.

"I know who he is, Sir. But what is going on?"

"I, too, wish to know," the beast rumbled. Okay, by process of elimination he had to be Teal'c, who Jack had said they'd picked up on some sort of inter-planetary ramble, which explained, maybe, how he ended with a baby Ghoul in his belly. It made him feel better; hopefully Jiffies - Jaffa, huh? - weren't running about the USAF indiscriminately.

"Well, Harris, want to summarize?" Jack happily threw him to the wolves.

"Um, Sir? How much do they…?" He trailed off confusedly, looking to Jack for help.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Kids, aside from his military service, Harris was involved in a civilian unit engaged in activities as heavily classified as the Stargate Program. I'll probably get you clearance eventually, but right now you can't ask why he knows what he does, okay?"

There was a full round of blinking.

"Excellent! So, Harris, tell us what we do under the mountain?"

Xander stared at him.

"Come on. You've been here almost an hour!"

"And you haven't told him anything," Daniel protested.

"Right. But how much has he told _us_?" Jack asked pointedly, and Daniel's eyes widened as he got it.

Xander shook his head surreptitiously and cracked his neck before catching Jack's eye.

"Well, you said the program involved planetary exploration and alien interaction, Sir."

Jack smirked. "I told you that months ago, Harris. What have you learned today?" He picked up and twirled a pen. "Take your time."

Xander closed his eyes and sucked in a breath before looking from one member of the team to another. "Right. At some point somebody dug up the Ghoul portal in Egypt. The USAF got ahold of it and rigged it to work with computers. You said planets, multiple, so presumably there are more of these scattered around; that's how you can operate a space exploration program from underground. You dragged in an anthropologist," he nodded at Daniel, "so you wouldn't piss off the aliens you met. You probably ran into Ghouls somewhere, which means that they were exiled through the portal and not killed. Unless there are others that never came to Earth. And you convinced the peanut-butter man - sorry, Jaffa - to ditch the false god and come play for your team. Yes?"

Jack's eyes were bright with laughter and the rest of the team was staring at him blankly.

Sam stuttered a little. "What's a Ghoul? I mean, really, a Ghoul?" She looked around plaintively.

"Well, his explanation was… Danny?" Jack started and stopped, leaving Daniel to answer.

"Creepy symbiotic snake-things with delusions of grandeur."

Sam slumped back. "That's what I was afraid of."

 


	5. Sam's History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.

 

"Sam?" At first he'd thought her reaction was just stunned bemusement, maybe frustration, but this was something else. Jack was worried.

She looked at him, eyes wild and cold together.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Jack asked.

"Your new Lieutenant knows all about - " Daniel began, but cut off when he saw both Sam and Jack shaking their heads. "What, then?" He asked, and turned to glare accusingly at Xander.

Xander could only shake his head, baffled.

"They recruit you guys young, huh?" She asked with a cracked laugh. It was only when she turned to face him that Xander realized she was talking to him.

"Ma'am?"

She laughed again. "Civilian. Classified." Her focus narrowed, cool and crisp and lethal. "We know the history from the ones who left. You know from the ones who stayed, don't you." Not a question.

"Sam?" Daniel asked again, while Xander and jack exchanged worried glances.

"I don't get it. There's no little girls here. Or do your lot just need to keep a hand in?" She was growling again, drawing Teal'c forward in readiness to back his comrade in whatever battle she was preparing to face.

Xander's face went white.

"Who was she?" He asked quietly.

Same sneered. "She was my best friend. We were thirteen."

"Fuck," Xander hissed. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry." She smoothed her expression. "Why are you here?"

"What's going on?" Daniel pleaded.

Xander looked to Jack for help, and he sighed and nodded. "So much for clearance. Sam, Harris isn't one of them; he knew a girl -"

"Three," Xander interjected quietly. Sam's eyebrows rose.

Jack nodded. "Three girls like your friend. In school. He helped."

"Helped?" Sam blinked rapidly.

Xander slipped to his knees and moved forward, looking up into her face. "I was sixteen. Buffy was sunshine in a mini-skirt. She saved Willow and me, but they got Jesse. I had to… yeah."

She reached down and pulled his hand up, gripping it in her lap. Even he could tell it was a move wholly out of character.

"Couldn't leave, after that. Buffy died, but it didn't stick. CPR is a side-kick's friend." He grinned ruefully, then sobered. "New girl showed up, Kendra. Grew up like… like _they_ wanted. Automaton. Sweet underneath, though. She lasted less than a year." He shook his head and tightened his grip on Sam's hand; he gripped back. "Third one was in a bad situation, before the Call. Had it rough. We didn't get it, didn't help. She kinda… went off-track. Doing better, now."

"How long?" Sam asked. "How long did you help?"

Xander sat back on his heels, stung, reclaiming his hand.

"I never stopped."

Sam shook her head. "Why leave?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't helping much; they could do it without me. There's a whole world - galaxy, now - that doesn't have a Slayer."

When it was obvious they were done and no explanation was forthcoming, Daniel broke in to the silence. "And for the rest of us?"

"Demons exist. Magic works. There's a group of men in England called the Watcher's Council, who monitor young girls who might be imbued with supernatural energies that give them the strength and speed to fight those demons." Jack was brusque.

"One girl in all the world," Sam added.

"One dies, the next is Called," was Xander's contribution.

Daniel wanted to laugh, it was ludicrous, but nobody looked anything other than perfectly serious. He glanced over his shoulder, but Teal'c had relaxed back against the wall, face carefully inscrutable.

"Okay. So. Aliens and advanced technology, right?" He asked.

Jack shook his head. "Reports I've got say they pre-date the arrival of the Ancients by millenia, and there is substantial evidence of trans-dimensional travel."

Sam nudged Daniel. "I don't believe in anything, Daniel, but I believe in vampires."

He jolted. "Vampires? Yellow eyes, bumpy foreheads, fangs?"

Xander cocked his head. "That's not from a movie. You've seen them." It wasn't a question.

Daniel shook his head. "Not that I remember. I have nightmares, though.

Xander nodded. "I hear you." He flashed a quick, quirky grin. "My hometown has the most demonic activity of any place on Earth. There's a kind of pervasive willful self-delusion that means nobody appears to notice. But you can buy prescription sleep meds over the counter at the gas station."

Jack snorted.

Teal'c broke the stilted peace that followed. "I would like to know how AlexanderHarris knew of my prim'tah."

Xander looked up at Teal'c, blinked, and eased his way off the floor and over to his seat. "Your what?"

Jack pointed at Teal'c's midsection. "The bun in the big guy's oven."

"Ah." Xander nodded. "Like I said, I grew up in Hell on Earth - literally; there was a weak spot, sort of, in the walls between this and other dimensions under my High School library. It's called the Hellmouth, and it kinda… leaked. Vibes of the bad kind. Nasty magics and chills-inducing emanations. I was conceived, born and raised in its radius of effect, and it's given me a sort of sensitivity to other-ness. It only works if I'm off the Hellmouth; everything's the same kind of icky there. But I could tell the big guy - Teal'c? - is a little off from the norm, and that the wee Ghoul - sorry, Goa'uld - is a giant honkin' wrong in my happy worldview." He shook his head suddenly, recollecting himself. "Sir."

Daniel snorted back a chuckle, while Jack dropped him a quick wink. Sam was smiling, which reduced the embarassment of having gone on such a ramble.

"I believe I understand, AlexanderHarris. Thank you."

"No problem, Teal'c." He grinned.

"Right, so!" Daniel suddenly called everyone's attentions. "You learned about Goa'uld because you study demons in your down-time, and contemporary… uh, people like you?"

"Watchers," Xander offered. "Professional demonologists."

Daniel shook his head. "Demonologists. Right. So. Contemporary Watchers thought that the Goa'uld were demons, so they took notes. Which means that you have access to first-hand accounts of the uprising that exiled the Goa'uld." He turned to Jack. "I _like_ this present."

Jack sputtered a little, but Xander laughed.

"Not exactly, I'm afraid. The originals are in the posession of the Council, and neither I nor anyone with whom I associate is still in contact with them… Wait!"

"Yes?" Daniel demanded eagerly.

"Faith's new Watcher, Sam Zabuto. He retired from active duty after Kendra died, but he never cut ties with the old boys the way Giles and Wes did - sorry; those are both Watchers who were fired for giving a damn about their Slayers. He might be able to help you out. Until I can get an answer for you from him, though, I've got a book on North African demons and one on major demonic institutions of antiquity in my apartment, and Giles has some more references, I know. I'll call him up."

Daniel's eyes were wide with joy. "Jack? Can we keep him?"

Xander scowled.

 


	6. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.

 

For all his dubious welcome by SG-1, Xander's next few months were spent in acquiring skills that were more generally accrued over years of experience. There were Second Lieutenants aplenty stationed at the mountain, but the vast majority were serving as guards or were in training as technical specialists. Xander hadn't made the connection, coming in; he assumed that his duties would be in the line of research assistant and gofer - not exactly what he had been expecting, fresh off the Hellmouth, but not a waste of his particular skill-set, either - but his current gate training put paid to that idea: Dr. Jackson was a field anthropologist and so Xander was, essentially, being trained to follow him about.

His biggest problems were in his cultural sensitivity lectures. He wasn't inclined, like some of the grunts being trained up for the more action-based teams, to mock the less advanced cultures they might encounter, nor did he feel threatened by the matriarchal societies or want to take advantage of women in societies where they were a subservient class. Instead, he had two major issues. The first was one he was overcoming: alien races that were _not_ of human descent gave him the demon heebie-jeebies and just the pictures of the Unas made his fingers twitch for a stake or a gun. He still called them proto-Grinches, no matter how often Sergeant Walton scolded him for it.

The other problem was less easily dealt with: he was, in the words of Jack O'Neill to George Hammond, "too blasted idealistic; boy's gonna start another war!"

While SG-1 wasn't exactly known for its restraint when dealing with humanitarian crises, they had developed some measure of diplomacy and, more important, an awareness that, for the most part, change in a largely functioning society had to be gradual. Xander spent more time debating schemes for social revolution in mock societies than he did in any other two of his tasks together.

Which led him here.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant Harris."

Xander nodded soberly and carefully took the chair across from General Hammond.

"How are you getting on, Lieutenant?" The portly officer asked.

"Well, I think, Sir." Xander was all kinds of confused. He would have heard if personal interviews with the base commander were standard. They definitely weren't; the group of marines he'd been jawing with after dinner had been as surprised at his summons as he had.

"For the most part, that seems to be true."

Sneaking a peek at the file lying open on Hammond's desk, Xander noted his own headshot and a neat stack of signed evaluations.

"Sir?" He prodded.

"I don't generally intrude on team assignments, especially when dealing with Colonel O'Neill. You, however, are a special case. Younger than the usual, from a decidedly uncommon background - I checked the files and we've only had one Sunnydale native on staff here, and that as a cook. Any idea why that is?"

Xander blinked. "Surviving Sunnydale necessitates a well-developed sense of self-preservation, Sir. And a stronger than usual wariness of secrets."

Hammond nodded. "I had thought it might be something like that. But, for the most part, you seem to be adjusting well. Your physical evaluations and fighting skills continue to improve, your marksmanship is adequate, and your teachers in tactics and strategy seem to be impressed. Dr. Jackson is more than satisfied with your developing language skills and the new reference texts you've brought to the program. However…"

He trailed off, leaving Xander gritting his teeth. This much cheerleading could only signify that a truly hellacious comedown was en route.

***

Almost an hour later he emerged, pale and a little shaky, and almost ran smack into SG-1.

"Rough, ain't he?" Jack asked, casually hooking a hand around Xander's elbow and leading him away towards the elevator.

"Sir?" Xander asked, then blinked. He'd somehow missed the four, even as he'd started walking among them, but Jack's question had caught his attention. "Where are we going, Sir?"

"A reaming like that earns you a drink."

"Sir?" Xander's head jerked a little, a visual flailing for purchase.

"What's the verdict?" Sam asked softly, falling into step on his other side.

Xander winced. "No gate travel."

Jack jerked to a stop. "What?" He demanded.

"He can't do that!" Daniel squawked.

"Why?" Sam and Teal'c asked together.

Xander shrugged. "I can't disengage enough; he thinks I'll incite riots or something."

"Say what now?" Daniel asked as Jack twitched guiltily.

"This might be my fault," he offered quietly.

"Jack!" Daniel protested.

Jack shook his head. "You've got a pretty firm mental outline of utopia, Harris. I expressed concern to the General that you might not be able to accept some of the cultures we encounter - without further training." He emphasized the last to Daniel, who nodded grudgingly.

Xander shrugged. "I know, Sir. He told me."

"How long until you can travel, then?" Sam asked.

Xander shook his head, then shrugged. "It doesn't matter, though. I thought, coming in, that I was set to play research monkey for Dr. Jackson anyway. The Stargate was just a cool perq, though I'm sorry I won't be able to help the way you thought, Sir," he addressed the last to Jack, who scowled.

"Okay, we knew you were having trouble. But I thought he'd come over all General George and warn you to tone it down, not cut you off entirely!"

Xander shook his head. "SG-1's a first contact team, Sir. Maybe, if Dr. Jackson doesn't need me, I'll get to fill in on one of the combat teams sometime."

"And you agree with GeneralHammond's decision, XanderHarris?" It had taken a _lot_ of work to get the nickname concession from the Jaffa, and Xander looked upon it as his greatest win in Stargate.

Xander looked at him, surprised. "I fight demons and read books, Teal'c. I don't know jack about assigning personnel."

"Do you wish to go through the Stargate?" He asked, implacable.

"Of course I do! C'mon, giant sideways toilet-bowl to the stars? Just one flush away from a whole 'nother world? Creepy-crawlies and mysteries and evil-doers, heroes and damsels and… Okay, I could take or leave the prophecies, really. But the rest of it? I mean, I left Sunnydale so I could really _fight_ the bad guys, y'know? But I was support staff once, and I can do it again. And I'm much better suited for it, now, anyway."

Daniel shook his head. "Not that you wouldn't be a great assistant, because we both know you would, but you're much better suited for _action_. You should be out there with us, chasing down Goa'uld and - "

Xander turned and snarled at him. "Enough! I _know_ , dammit, don't you think I know? That I want to be out there more than anything? But I can't, because Colonel Bigmouth there thinks I don't know the difference between theory and practice! So just let me pretend, just give me some fucking time! I'll get over it, as long as you back. The. Hell. Off!"

"Lieutenant Harris!"

Jack was… really fucking pissed. Shit.

Xander snapped to attention, eyes forced level, past Daniel's shoulder at the blank wall, but very deliberately did not apologize. He hadn't even noticed until now that they'd herded him into Sam's laboratory. At least he wouldn't get dressed down in public.

After a very, very long silence, Xander gritted out an acknowledgement. "Sir."

Jack's voice was cold. "I take this outburst of yours to mean that you would, in fact, rather be put on an active gate team than spend your time translating what is brought back?"

Xander kinda, for all his frustrated anger, wanted to roll his eyes. Really, duh much? "Yes, sir." Was all he said instead.

"Enough to keep your mouth shut around the locals until you get a handle on how things work? You've got balls and brains, but you're not long on tact."

"Dammit, Jack," he could hear Daniel protesting his treatment.

Xander closed his eyes. He lost his temper and Jack decided to taunt him for what he couldn't have? Great. "Yes, Sir."

"If any member of SG-1 expresses concerns over your behavior off-world, or if I _ever_ hear you address any member of the program in such a fashion again, you'll be shackled to Dr. Jackson's desk until you hit retirement, Lieutenant."

Xander's eyes snapped open. That was _not_ Jack. "General Hammond, Sir?"

"Welcome to SG-1, kid." And that was.

***

"I apologize, XanderHarris, for causing you distress." Teal'c was in front of him, even as Jack was pounding his back, and bowing in earnest apology.

"Thank you, Teal'c," Xander responded quietly.

"Harris?" Jack stepped up, gripping his shoulder. "We didn't exactly want to, you know. But… Your teachers think you're too cocky, kid. It was either pretend to ground you, or really cut you off." He shrugged. "We want you on the team, so we went along with the ruse."

"Just so you know, this was all Jack and the General. We knew something was up, but not what." Sam offered.

"Thank you, Major Carter," Hammond muttered.

Xander looked around him for a long minute, finally catching Hammond's eye. "Who does things like that, Sir? What kind of game-playing Machiavellian stunt are you trying to pull? That was cruel and unnecessary!" Again, a long pause. "Sir."

Hammond winced. "What I _only just_ said about addressing others in SGC aside, I deserve that. Unfortunately, our selecting you for inclusion in the program has drawn the attention of other, less scrupulous parties. You were not wholly overlooked by the Initiative, and the NID has been exerting pressure on us to either turn you over - allegedly as a volunteer for some sort of specialized training unit - or let you loose, see how you go in the field. Only, of course, they want you under very stressful conditions, to see if you flourish or fail."

Xander recoiled. "Sir?"

"Look here, Harris," Sam drew his attention to an flashing light on a metal orb on the table. "Disrupts all - and I do mean all - electronic devices when activated. The lights in here are shielded; the inevitable bugs are not. Jack had me turn it on as soon as he welcomed you to the team."

Hammond nodded at Xander's burgeoning expression of understanding. "Until I can get my orders countermanded - and believe me, I am working on it - I have to be seen to be putting as much pressure on you as possible. Rather than the warning I would usually have administered for your problems in inter-species relations, I was asked to play this… yes, rather cruel trick on you."

"Losing your temper was a nice touch, Harris," Jack jostled Xander. "Don't do it again."

"Jack," Daniel warned. "I do understand, Harris. And I'm sorry."

Xander sighed. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?" He asked, looking at Jack.

"Granted."

He sank into a chair. "This is really fucked up."


	7. Ancient Scrolls and Twinkies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.

"Delivery for Dr. Jackson, world's greatest inter-planetary linguist!" Xander grinned over the heavy boxes he was carrying as he led Teal'c, similarly encumbered, into Daniel's office.

The last two months had been difficult; Xander had harbored an irrational grudge - and been aware of its irrationality, and apologized for its effects to his teammates, but nonetheless bore it - about the manner in which he was officially invited to join SG-1 for several weeks, until the sheer burden of extra work - compliments, once more, of the NID's encouraging Hammond to apply stressors to the young Lieutenant - had simply overwhelmed him. His physical training regimen had been upped significantly, his alien history courses had grown more convoluted, and his duties as Daniel's assistant had become more prolific.

He had yet to go through the gate.

Mostly, though, he was okay with things as they were. Of course, that was because he knew they were going to change - he was scheduled for his first trip to the Beta Site that very afternoon, just to make sure his system could handle the shock of wormhole travel. And the NID putting pressure on him had come with an unexpected side effect: SG-1 had circled the wagons around their new addition, backing him to the hilt even as they inundated him with extra work. He was part of the team, now, in a way that nobody had expected. The kid brother - or favorite pet - of the team, admittedly, but more than just a glorified gofer.

They hadn't been willing to risk the trick with the signal disrupter in Sam's office again, so there hadn't been any more meetings about how to deal with the NID's throwing their weight around, but notes to Xander had a way of finding their way into Daniel's correspondence. Mostly, they were just trying to get through the training period, knowing that once Xander was green-lighted for gate travel the NID would have a much harder time influencing much of anything, and waiting restlessly for the day when Hammond finally got his thrice-damned orders rescinded or countermanded.

Nobody, not even Hammond, was sure what the hold-up was on that front, but a great deal of stone-walling was happening.

Still, Xander was learning, Xander was growing as a person, Xander was kind of bored with sitting around the mountain, and Xander bore gifts! Like the ones that were getting really, really heavy in his arms right now and Daniel could clear a spot for him to dump his boxes anytime, really, please and thank you.

"Presents!" Daniel crowed as he shifted papers from one chair to another, shoving the empty one forward for Xander to load up. "What'd you get me, Xander?"

Daniel just wasn't a very formal person, Xander had learned to his great glee. Neither was Jack, for that matter, but military was military and protocol had them all caught in her grasping little claws. Daniel, as a civilian consultant, dodged merrily around title and ritual with nary a care.

"Old things, Dr. J. Old, dusty, heavy things." He helped Teal'c navigate his armload onto a semi-clear spot of floor.

"Joy." Jack intoned funereally from the doorway.

"Keep your cynicism to yourself, Jack," Daniel scolded. "Just because Xander didn't bring _you_ anything doesn't mean you have to piss on my parade."

There was a lot of stunned silence in response.

"Daniel Jackson, have you been talking to the jarheads again?" Jack demanded.

Daniel just blinked innocently, then turned to grab a seriously hideous gold-toned dagger that presumably had some archaeological merit - it certainly was devoid of artistic merit - and began to slice at the heavy brown tape that sealed the first box. "Who're they from, Xander?"

Xander's voice grew cloyingly coy. "A Dr. Zabuto, I think?"

Daniel stood from his half-crouch. "Zabuto? I don't…" He noticed Xander's expression. "Seriously?" He almost squealed in delight and dove back to the box.

"Background, Harris?" Jack asked, moving into the room.

"The Watcher in Cleveland, Sir. Giles sweet-talked him into finagling some… pertinent documents out of the Council's clutches."

Daniel's victory crowing interrupted further inquiry. "Xander Harris, I adore you! No more kibbles-and-bits for you; it's steak tonight!" He was clutching a worn leather-wrapped tube to his chest, eyes glazed with brainiac bliss.

"I hate you." Xander deadpanned.

"He means, of course, he'll feed you steak whenever he can drag himself away from his new toys." Jack looked at the pile of similar tubes in the opened box and the three unopened boxes in the room. "It might be weeks."

"I hate you a lot."

"Who hates whom?" Sam asked, sticking her head in. "Some loots were chattering outside my office, said SG-1 was up to something."

Teal'c gave a mammoth shrug. Of course, he wasn't exactly equipped to give any other kind, so nobody really noticed. "XanderHarris has brought DanielJackson the Watchers' reports on the Goa'uld."

Sam's eyes lit up. "And nobody called me?"

"Not exactly heavy on the techno-babble, Ma'am." She glared and Xander corrected himself; she was a superior officer, but she preferred to keep away from Ma'ams outside of the public view. "Remember, the Watchers who wrote these thought that the Goa'uld were demons who took over human hosts and used magic to cast their nifty god-tricks, not aliens with tech."

Sam pouted, catching herself only after Jack started to snicker. "But they'll still have descriptions of what the 'demons' could do, right?" She asked. "And they must've noticed the Ha'taks, so there should be something on that. And really, anything we can get is more than we've got now."

"Your perception never ceases to amaze," Jack said drily. "Right. Harris, you've brought your own doom upon yourself, but before you can join Danny in your freaky research happy time, I need you."

"Sir? I'm going through the gate at 14:00, remember?"

Jack nodded. "Yup. But you're not going to Beta Site, so we need to chat." He turned and walked out, gesturing to Teal'c to follow. Sam stayed behind, extracting the carefully packaged scroll-bearing capsules and stacking them to the side while Daniel read over the letter that Giles had included, explaining what he had.

"Damn," he murmured.

"What is it?" Sam asked, moving to read over his shoulder.

"Egyptian only became a real language around the same time the Goa'uld were kicked out, but there is evidence of proto-hieroglyphs from as early as 4000 BCE; I was hoping for a few contemporary records and a lot of histories. I didn't even think about what the Slayer really is - she's always the girl best suited _in the world_ to accept the influx of power; according to Xander there's evidence of an actual intelligence behind the Slayer essence. And Watchers were always scholars, even before there was a Council to belong to, and usually sorcerers. Because human magic wasn't very advanced when the Goa'uld were on Earth, the Watchers tended to treat with demons - which is sorcery. And to keep their records private, they used demonic languages."

Sam blinked.

"None of which I speak, Sam." He sighed. "And Jack just absconded with my translator."

"Does Giles say which languages they use?" Sam asked.

"No, it's just a list of when-and-where. I suppose I'll take them into the document room and crack open the Egyptian ones; maybe I'll be able to figure some of it out."

Sam cocked her head, grinning.

"I'm missing something, aren't I?" Daniel asked, a little plaintively.

Her grin grew. "What are Ghouls, Daniel?"

He frowned at her. "Goa'uld."

She shook her head. "When Xander got here, what did he think Ghouls were? What did the _Watchers_ think Ghouls were?"

His frown turned upside down. "Demons!"

"And you can read Goa'uld. Maybe you'll get lucky."

Daniel squeezed her shoulder in quick thanks and grabbed the first two Egyptian scrolls before heading to the climate-controlled document room. Sam shook her head ruefully and closed the door on her way out.

By the time she caught up with Jack, Teal'c and Harris, they were ensconced in Jack's office. She was a bit taken aback when she realized what, exactly, they were doing.

"Twinkies, Colonel?"

Xander stood up and addressed her soberly. "These could be my last moments on Earth, Major Carter. If I die, I want to do it with blood on my knife and a twinkie in my belly."

She stared at him.

Jack stared at him.

Teal'c didn't really stare so much as become even _more_ inscrutable, which is pretty much Jaffa for staring.

Xander shrugged and stuffed the entire twinkie in his mouth.

 


	8. What Not to Do When Faced With a Goa'uld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander heads to the US Military Academy after graduation and gets recruited by the SGC. His unofficial title of "Assistant Space-Monkey" doesn't explain just why the NID is so interested, but all Xander really wants to do is get through the Gate.

 

"'Blood on my knife', kid?" Jack was standing next to a fidgeting Xander as they waited for Teal'c and Sam to join them. There was some kind of technical issue at the Beta Site, and so Xander's first trip through the Stargate was going to be to P2X-413 - a reputedly peaceful planet. That reputation, combined with the disastrous luck of all newbies to gate travel, had Jack a little tense.

"Battle cry of the Sunnydale Survivor, Sir?" Xander responded cheekily. "Okay, I'll admit, 'dust on my stake' would be a bit more appropriate, but hopefully not particularly apt for whatever we might encounter." He cast a sideways glance at the colonel. "I note you didn't object to the twinkie bit."

Jack scoffed. "Just goes to show you've got your priorities in order."

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Dead baddies and twinkies, oh happy day?"

"Pretty much."

"Can you explain to Giles for me that that is, in fact, a valid life philosophy? He's never really gotten behind it."

"He's British."

"True."

"Dusty books and tea."

"Dr. J?"

"Coffee."

"Gotcha."

"Translation?" Sam's voice came from behind them, distinctly amused.

"Carter!" Jack jumped a little, covering it up with bluster. "Just explaining the difference between your average Watcher and your average Daniel."

"Tea and coffee, Sir?"

"You betcha," Jack grinned.

"Right."

"Plus that whole alien/demon thing," Xander added.

"Of course."

"Otherwise? I feel right at home."

"I find this greatly disturbing, XanderHarris." Xander blinked. He would have sworn the sneaky Jaffa had almost smiled.

"Teal'c! You made it!" Jack espoused merrily.

"Teal'c! You made a joke!" Was Xander's somewhat warier contribution.

"Harris, don't mock your superior officer."

Xander turned puppy-eyes on Jack. "Yes, Sir, of course, Sir, never dream of it, Sir."

Jack's eyes rolled in response. "Shut your face and get to the ramp, Harris."

Xander skipped happily in decidedly non-regulation fashion. "Yes, Sir!"

The rest of the team, barring Daniel who was sequestered with his new dusty scrolls, followed more sedately. Jack tried very, very hard to ignore Hammond's quirked smile as the man watched from the gallery.

He noticed that Xander grew more tense as the gate technician went through the process of dialing the planet's address and stepped up to his side. "Don't worry, kid. Every report says the planet's a cake-walk. We go through, take a wander so that you, too, can experience the glory of the alien trees, and -barring incident - go home." He turned to face Xander fully and realized that the boy had blanched almost completely white - a true accomplishment, given his skin tone. "What is it?"

Xander closed his eyes as if praying for patience. "That's one hell of a jinx, Sir." He rolled his shoulders and met Jack's concerned gaze. "I'm just glad I had that twinkie."

***

"I'm so not glad I had that twinkie," Xander moaned, holding his belly and slumping against the DHD.

***

"Those are some damn fine trees, Sir."

"Yup."

"Nice and alien."

"Yup."

"Look kinda like oak, Sir."

"Yup."

***

"Sir?"

Jack turned away from Sam to see both Xander and Teal'c focused on the tree-line. They'd been tromping around for a while, hoping to encounter some of the low-tech natives. Apparently the locals were very good traders, given a kind of free pass to any planet they came to. They produced some nifty woodwork and a particular variety of fur that was damned near waterproof, and basically moved from Stargate to Stargate until they'd traded the commodities of a dozen different planets for the goods needed back home - plus a substantial profit. SG-1 was near the main settlement, but had yet to encounter any locals.

"What is it, Harris?"

"These alien trees of yours. They been known to scream?"

"For cryin' out loud!"

***

Well, they knew where the locals were.

Now if they could only find Xander.

***

"Wow."

Jack blanched as he heard Xander's voice ring out in the clearing. The Goa'uld's attention snapped around, her Jaffa falling in before her.

"You are one _ugly_ little merf, aintcha?" Xander shook his head, stepping out of the trees. "Not the body - you can hear me, right? The person the Goa'uld's inside? In fact, you've got an absolutely bangin' bod. But that nasty little monster all coiled around your spine? Fugly, man."

Jack was swearing silently, signaling to Sam and Teal'c to take flanking positions. The small group of natives were still huddled together, seemingly unaware that the Goa'uld's attention had been diverted - of course, the two Jaffa who were still standing over them, staves open and ready to fire, might have been some deterrent as well.

"Who are you, impudent mortal?" The Goa'uld's voice deepened menacingly, but Xander only wrinkled his nose.

"Y'know, I get called that more often than one might think."

"Answer!" She commanded, stepping forward. Her Jaffa moved smoothly at her sides.

"Xander, if you please." He swept a dramatic bow, but never dropped his eyes from hers. "And you are?"

"A god, puny underling. I do not _please_." Jack could practically see the disdain curling her lip from behind.

The Jaffa were distracted by Xander, but the three members of SG-1 were still going to be hard pressed to incapacitate them before either Xander or the captives got blasted.

"Specificity, your great and powerful Oz-ness. Which god?"

"I am Sarpanit!" She thundered, sweeping a hand out to encompass the clearing. "Mother of all!"

"Uh-huh." Xander, decidedly unimpressed, rocked on his heels. Jack swore under his breath and darted a glance at Teal'c, who shook his head. He'd never heard of her, which was pretty strange, considering she commanded Jaffa.

Sam had gotten the attention - a serious risk, but Jack couldn't fault her for it - of one of the huddled boys under Jaffa guard. It was only now that Jack realized that they were all, in fact, male, and his stomach started to sink. Xander had warned him about jinxes…

Sam signaled to the boy, who nudged his friends, and the five actually understood her quick hand-signals and began slowly inching their way in a widening half-circle away from the Jaffa.

"Do you not tremble, mortal?" Sarpanit demanded, again stepping closer. And again the Jaffa moved along with her; even the two guarding the local boys were twitching, attention divided. If Jack didn't kill the kid for this stunt, he might congratulate him on his tactics. Provided it was intentional. Of course, this was Xander - his stupider stunts usually were to some purpose.

Xander shrugged and cocked his head. "Depends. Do you have really, really big teeth? Are you capable of transforming into an eighty-foot-long snake? Can you burn the humanity out of me? Have you hunted my loved ones and slaughtered the innocent?" He smirked. "Because they scared me. But then again, they're all dead, too."

Sarpanit hissed. "I have strength and power beyond mortal ken; I will live forever!"

This time it was Xander who stepped forward. He ducked his head a little, as if sharing a secret, but his voice carried clearly to Jack. "That's what they said."

She howled and struck out, lashing him across the face, and the Jaffa brought up their weapons. The boys took the opportunity to make a run for it; when their guards would have pursued, Sarpanit stopped them.

"You beast, you fool, you pathetic slime!"

Xander, who hand been driven to the ground by the blow, gathered his knees under him and pushed himself erect. Blood trickled down his face.

"That's not very nice," he scolded. "Name-calling is a bit juvenile, isn't it?"

"You lost me my hosts, fool," she hissed, drawing herself up. "You will bear Marduk in their stead."

With the hostages gone, it was time for the rest of the team to move. Signaling to Teal'c and Sam, Jack began the assault, firing upon the two guard Jaffa.

In the chaos of gunfire and staff-blast, Jack almost missed the Goa'uld's triumphant shriek.

Almost.

Instead, he swore and took off running, pounding her body with bullets as soon as he realized that Xander was back on the ground.

She collapsed, an open and empty glazed stone jar rolling away from her grasp, Jaffa thudding around her as Teal'c and Sam finished things off. Jack was stunned to realize that he was largely unhurt.

Xander, however…

Was rolling up onto his hands and knees, vomiting?

Vomiting snake-parts?

He waited for the shuddering and heaving to end, Sam and Teal'c standing by him in equal horror. Finally, Xander collapsed onto his back and blinked blearily up at him.

"Harris, what the hell happened?"

"I bit down, Sir."

Jack turned very, very green.

 

 


End file.
